I glanced over my shoulder. Xenia was clutching her cane, while Serilda, Cho, and the Bellonan guards had their hands on their swords. Everyone was ready for trouble.
I headed after Driscol, and the others fell in step around and behind me.
Driscol, Seraphine, and their guards crossed the plazas and waited for us to catch up at the boulevard. We crossed that as a group and wound our way up the stone steps.
As we climbed, Driscol played the part of the pleasant host, pointing out fountains, buildings, and other interesting landmarks, and giving us an abbreviated history lesson about the island and its people. Seraphine remained silent, a bland, bored expression on her face.
Driscol stopped at one of the landings and gestured over at an enormous building perched at the end of the boulevard several hundred feet away. “And that, of course, is the Fortuna Mint.”
I had been concentrating on the people moving across the plazas, along the boulevard, and up and down the steps, keeping an eye out for potential assassins, so I hadn’t paid much attention to the surrounding buildings. But now that Driscol had pointed it out, I realized just how large the Mint was and how it completely dominated this part of the island.
The three-story structure was fashioned out of gleaming white marble that made it look like a huge square opal that had been set into the surrounding tan stone. Small bits of metal had been inlaid into the wide, fluted columns that supported the building, adding to its glowing luster. I squinted into the sun. No, not just metal—gold coins. Thousands and thousands of coins curled up and around the columns like gold ribbons before spreading out across and completely covering the wide, flat band of stone that topped the structure like a crown on a king’s head.
“And then we have Lady Fortuna herself, our famous coined lady and our ancestor who first founded the Mint.” Pride rippled through Driscol’s voice as he gestured toward the building again.
A large fountain stood in the open space in front of the Mint. The fountain’s round base was made of the same tan stone as the surrounding plazas and boulevard, but the statue in the center looked like it was solid gold. The statue was easily more than forty feet tall and the embodiment of the DiLucri family crest—a woman with coins for her eyes and mouth.
Water rose and fell in small jets in the base of the fountain, but not a single drop touched the woman’s golden skin. Her head was tilted back, and her arms were stretched upward in what was probably supposed to be a strong, triumphant pose, but I couldn’t help but think that the woman—Lady Fortuna—was silently pleading with the gods to release her from her golden torment and give her real eyes to see with, as well as an actual mouth to voice her shrieking rage.
“Isn’t she magnificent?” Driscol asked, clearly fishing for a compliment.
I held back a shudder. “The fountain is a bit garish for my tastes. Then again, I’ve never understood some people’s need to flaunt their wealth.”
Driscol’s nostrils flared with anger, although Seraphine’s expression remained calm. The DiLucri guards tightened their grips on their swords at my pointed insult. My friends did the same, ready to defend me. I gave Driscol a cold, flat look. I wasn’t afraid of him or his men, and I wasn’t going to pretend that he was anything other than an enemy.
After a long, tense moment, Driscol forced himself to smile at me again. “Let’s continue our journey.”
He started climbing the steps again. Seraphine and the guards followed him, and my friends and I brought up the rear.
Five minutes later, we trudged up a final set of steps to another large stone plaza lined with wooden carts and merchants selling everything from winter hats and gloves to brightly colored flags and pennants to replica weapons. Throngs of people milled around, moving from one cart to the next, and the sticky-sweet scents of cornucopia, liquored fudges, flavored ices, hot spiced toddies, and other treats filled the air.
But I only had eyes for the arena.
It loomed like some great stone kraken chained on top of the island. The arena was even larger than the Mint and made of the same gleaming white stone, although it didn’t feature all the garish gold coins. It was easily one of the biggest structures I had ever seen, with level after level spiraling higher and higher into the air. Driscol didn’t offer any tidbits of information about the arena, but I knew that it was called the Pinnaculum because winning here was supposed to be the very pinnacle of achievement.
A steady stream of spectators were climbing the steps that ringed the outside of the arena, carrying their food, drinks, and flags, while many of the competitors were gathered around the tables perched in front of the wide archways carved into the bottom level. Signs had been erected telling the competitors which table they needed to report to in order to find out when and where their event was being held. A hundred conversations trilled through the air, along with snorts of laughter and squeals of excitement.
Everyone was eager for the Games to begin.
My stomach twisted into knots thinking about what—and who—might be waiting inside the arena, but there was no turning back. I had to be strong now, not just for myself and my friends, but for all the Bellonans here and back home who were counting on me.
So I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and strode forward to meet my enemies.
* * *
My friends and I followed Driscol, Seraphine, and the guards through one of the archways and into the Pinnaculum. In many ways, it was like the Black Swan arena back home in Svalin—a wide circular space with hard-packed dirt that was cordoned off by a stone wall with several iron gates set into it.
Behind the wall, a wide walkway let people move from one section to another, while several sets of stairs led up to the stone bleachers that encircled the entire arena. The bleachers were rapidly filling up, as were the large boxes embedded at different points in the various levels. Many of the boxes featured cushioned chairs and shaded awnings, along with servants standing by with food and drink. That was where those with money, power, magic, and influence would sit and watch the Regalia, as well as play their own games with each other.
Flags from each one of the seven kingdoms lined the very top of the open-air arena, including one that featured my midnight-blue crown-of-shards crest on a light gray background. To my surprise, an eighth flag was also in the mix—one that boasted the gold face of the DiLucris’ coined woman on a white background. The colorful cloths snapped back and forth in the steady breeze, making the crests seem like living things, as though the shimmering symbols were spectators watching, waving, and approving of all the action below.
“The royal box is this way,” Driscol said.
He strode forward, along with Seraphine and their guards.
A hand touched my elbow, and I glanced over at Serilda. For a moment, we stared at each other, then her hand dropped, and she slipped away from our group. In an instant, she had pulled up the hood of her black cloak and vanished into the crowd.
My gaze flicked to the DiLucris and their guards, but none of them seemed to have noticed Serilda leaving. I moved forward, following them, along with the rest of my friends.
Driscol, Seraphine, and their men went about halfway around the arena before heading for the bleacher steps. He climbed them very slowly, stopping to smile, wave, and call out to several people, while Seraphine bobbed her head in greeting. But Driscol wasn’t the only one that folks noticed.
“Look! Over there! It’s the Bellonan queen!”
“Is that really her?”
“Of course it is! See her tearstone sword!”
Snatches of conversation drifted over to me, and people started calling out and waving. Even though I wanted to duck my head, hurry up the steps, and escape the unwanted attention, I forced myself to smile and wave back, as if I truly were the grand, regal queen they were all expecting, instead of just the royal stand-in who had unexpectedly wound up with the crown. Try as I might to resist the notion, I still sometimes thought of myself that way.
Drisco
l frowned, as though he were annoyed that I had more admirers than he did, and he quickly moved on. We wound up on a wide, rectangular terrace carved into the middle of the bleachers. Black wrought-iron railing cordoned off the area from the surrounding boxes, and dozens of people were already milling around, admiring the spectacular view of the arena floor below.
Driscol nodded at the two guards stationed at the terrace entrance and swept past them, as did Seraphine. I lifted my chin a bit higher and followed.
Several tables covered with platters of food had been pushed up against the far end of the terrace, along with carts covered with carafes of teas, juices, wines, and more. Dozens of minor royals, nobles, and advisors were gathered in that area, piling their plates high with fresh fruit, cheeses, crackers, scones, danishes, and other nibbles, while servants flitted around, fetching goblets full of kiwi and mango juices.
Conversations and laughter pealed through the air, but it wasn’t all fun and games. Guards dressed in their kingdoms’ uniforms stood in small groups all around the terrace. The opening ceremonies might supposedly be a peaceful gathering, but none of the royals were taking any chances with their safety.
Auster had sent a small contingent of men on ahead to the arena, and I nodded at the Bellonan guards, who snapped to attention at the sight of me.
The centerpiece of the terrace was a single round table covered with a simple white cloth and flanked by seven wooden chairs. None of the chairs featured any crests or markings, but there was one for the leader of each kingdom. An eighth chair, with the coined-woman crest carved into the top, was also squatting at the table. It seemed as though Driscol planned on sitting with the royals.
I paused, not quite sure what to do, but Cho touched my shoulder before striding forward and loudly clearing his throat, getting everyone’s attention.
“Announcing Her Royal Majesty, Queen Everleigh Saffira Winter Blair of Bellona!” His voice boomed out like thunder, and everyone turned to stare at me.
I fixed a pleasant smile on my face, took a step forward, and stopped, letting everyone get a good, long look at me. The pause also gave me time to pick the other kings and queens out of the crowd.
King Eon Umbele of Vacuna was a fire magier with a tall, thick body and muscled arms. His eyes were a deep dark brown, while his black hair was cropped close to his skull and just a shade lighter than his ebony skin.
Eon was talking with Queen Ruri Yamato of Ryusama, a slender morph with a dragon’s face made of emerald-green scales glimmering on her left hand. Ruri’s black hair was sleeked back into a bun, all the better to show off her green eyes, high cheekbones, and golden skin.
A few feet away, King Cisco Castillo of Flores, a plant magier, was perusing the grapes on his plate with a critical gaze. He was short and stocky with a barrel chest that was slowly giving way to a paunchy stomach. His hazel eyes and bronze skin gleamed in the morning sunlight, as did his dark brown hair, which was pulled back into a low ponytail.
Eon, Ruri, and Cisco were all in their fifties, and each had been comfortable in their rule for quite some time. Given favorable enough terms, I would like to align with all of them, but their kingdoms weren’t critical to my plans.
The person whose support I needed the most was Queen Zariza Rubin of Unger, a morph who was easily the most recognizable and notorious of all the royals. She was about ten years older than me, in her late thirties, and quite stunning with golden amber eyes and beautiful bronze skin. Zariza was famous for her dark red hair, which cascaded halfway down her back. Each strand was perfectly curled and had a high, glossy luster, and the ogre face on her neck boasted the same long, vibrant red hair.
Zariza was sipping a glass of Ungerian apple brandy and studying me with a neutral expression. Not welcoming, but not hostile either. Xenia was my friend and a fixture in my court, but I had never met Zariza, and it seemed as though she was far more reserved than her cousin. Or perhaps she didn’t want to warmly acknowledge me and tip her hand about the Unger-Bellona alliance that we had secretly been negotiating for months.
I glanced around the rest of the terrace, studying the mix of lesser royals, nobles, advisors, servants, and guards. Concern filled me.
The Mortan king wasn’t here.
I didn’t see anyone wearing the Mortan crest or colors, not so much as a single guard. Even though the Mortans hadn’t set up camp on their side of the river yet, I had still expected them to be at the opening ceremonies, which were supposed to start within the hour.
I wasn’t the only one searching for them. Several people kept looking down at the arena floor, as if they were wondering when—or even if—the Mortans would arrive. But the Mortans would never skip the Regalia. Their warriors, magiers, masters, and athletes won far too many competitions for them to do that. So why weren’t they here yet? Their absence only increased my concern about what the Mortan king might be plotting.
I kept glancing around the terrace, and I finally spotted two friendly faces—King Heinrich Ripley and his son Dominic. Sullivan’s father and older half brother.
The two men put down their breakfast plates and walked over to me. Heinrich and Dominic were both dressed in black tunics, along with black leggings and boots, and the Ripley royal crest—a snarling gargoyle face—was stitched in black thread on their gray jackets. They both had the same dark brown hair, blue eyes, tan skin, and lightning magic that Sullivan did, although I had always thought Sullivan was by far the most handsome and powerful. Then again, my opinion was a little biased.
“Everleigh!” Heinrich said in a warm voice, grasping my hands. “It’s so good to see you again!”
“And you too, Heinrich.” I squeezed his hands in my own. “You look well.”
And he truly did. A few months ago, Heinrich had been near death, thanks to the amethyst-eye poison that Dahlia, his longtime mistress and Sullivan’s mother, had been slipping into his evening tea. I’d used my immunity to cleanse the foul magic from his system, and Heinrich now seemed fully recovered, healthy and strong again. At least when it came to his body, although I knew that the sting of Dahlia’s betrayal would always linger in his heart.
I turned to the crown prince. “And you also look well, Dominic.”
“Hello, Everleigh.” He smiled, then leaned forward and kissed my cheek before drawing back.
I glanced around the terrace again. “Where’s Gemma?”
Heinrich and Dominic exchanged a glance.
“She’s back home with Alvis and Grimley,” Dominic said in a smooth voice. “She wanted to come, of course, but we thought it would be better if she stayed at the palace. Just in case the Regalia turns out to be more . . . exciting than usual.”
He smiled again, but the sharp scent of vinegary tension wafted off him. Dominic must be worried that the Mortans would try to kill him and his father again during the Games. I didn’t fault him for taking precautions with his daughter’s safety.
“And Rhea?” I asked.
Dominic looked to his right, and a much wider, far more genuine smile softened his face. “Here with me.”
I followed his gaze over to a woman standing next to the wrought-iron railing along the front of the terrace. She was wearing black boots and leggings, along with a gray tunic with a gargoyle face done in black thread over her heart. Several gray crystal pins held her shoulder-length curly black hair back from her face, showing off her topaz eyes and ebony skin. In addition to being beautiful, Captain Rhea was also a fearsome warrior, and a dagger hung from her belt, along with a sword with three rubies set into the hilt to augment her own impressive strength magic.
Rhea was speaking with a short woman wearing a black jacket with red buttons who was part of the Ungerian contingent. The Andvarian captain noticed me and waved. I returned the gesture.
“I’m glad that Rhea is here to watch over you,” I said. “And I’m especially glad that Gemma is far away and safe at Glitnir. The poor girl already survived one massacre. She doesn’t need to be in the middle of thi
s circus too.”
Heinrich and Dominic both grimaced, their faces tight with tension. Prince Frederich Ripley had died during the Seven Spire massacre, and they had almost lost Gemma during it as well, so they knew how dangerous royal gatherings could be.
“Where are the Mortans?” I asked in a low voice. “Why aren’t they here yet?”
“I’ve been discreetly asking around, but no one seems to know,” Dominic replied. “No one has spotted any activity on the Mortan side of the river. No servants or guards approaching, no tents being set up at their usual campsite, nothing like that. There’s no indication that the king is anywhere near Fortuna.”
“He’ll be here,” Heinrich said in a dark tone. “He never misses the Regalia, and he won’t pass up this chance to remind us just how much we should all fear him. And he’ll want to get a look at you in person, Everleigh. Especially since you keep killing all the assassins he sends after you.”
“Lucky me,” I muttered.
Heinrich gave me a sympathetic look, while Dominic waved over a servant, who handed each one of us a tall, frosty glass of kiwi mimosa. I discreetly smelled the drink, but I didn’t sense anything that shouldn’t be there, so I took a sip. The tart taste of the kiwi exploded on my tongue, along with the fizzy bubbles of the champagne. It was a perfect, refreshing way to start the gathering.
Over our drinks, Heinrich and Dominic filled me in on their conversations with the other royals and nobles, along with the gossip and rumors they’d heard. Most of it was typical stuff. Polite small talk and inane chitchat about the weather, the Regalia, and the upcoming yuletide season, as well as a few salacious whispers about various scandals. Nothing important, but that didn’t surprise me. Serilda and Xenia had told me that nothing of consequence usually happened until the first of the royal balls, which was being held tonight.
As I listened to Heinrich and Dominic’s tales, I kept looking around, searching for the Mortans. And I wasn’t the only one who was on edge because they weren’t here.
Crush the King Page 11
